Crux Ferimus: Umbra
by N-Rogue
Summary: Not long after my first mission, on Solomon Island, I got shipped out to Egypt to help the Council of Venice on behalf of the Templars. Sure, getting all up into the grill of another ancient evil wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my summer vacation, but hey, at least I can get a tan in the hot desert sun while I'm at it… right?
1. I Don't Talk About Fight Club

I started from my seat with a soft gasp, and I could feel the ice cold sweat travel down my face and bare chest. I looked down at my hands, and I saw that they were trembling slightly beneath the gauze and tape they were wrapped in. I willed them to stop shaking so much, and I swallowed the lump that had developed in my throat as the loudspeaker boomed all throughout the locker room. "Will the two tournament finalists please report to the arena?"

Standing up onto my legs, clad in a simple pair of black sweatpants, I made my way to the fight club's arena. As I walked through the grimy hallway of the abandoned building the local fight club called home, I could hear the scuttling of rats mixed in with the lingering stench of dark magic. Not surprising, considering that Darkside was where all the unsavory types of the magical variety go to hang out in London. Drug dealers peddling enchanted methamphetamine and other magically-enhanced drugs, monstrous bouncers standing guard outside doors, ghouls running taco carts, you name it. If it was weird, chances are that you could find it in Darkside.

I soon arrived at my entrance into the arena, which was barred by a crude portcullis made of rusty metal pipes and bars. Beyond it was the well-lit padded arena of the fight club. Above the octagonal arena, chainlink fences kept back the spectators and gamblers betting on the match, shouting for the blood of the contestants.

In the center of it all stood the announcer, basking in the attention of the crowd. He was tall and lanky, and was dressed in black and red like the ringmaster of a nightmarish circus. He twirled the end of his dark mustache as he twirled his microphone around like a baton, and bringing the mic to his lips, he began to speak in that same voices all boxing match announcers seemed to share.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the fight of your life here at the Darkside Fight Club! Tonight is the night you've all been waiting for! The final matchup of the Unrestricted Tournament, where almost anything goes and size and weight are of no consequence! Now remember that this match is a one-round fight, like all the others, so whoever wins takes it all!"

"Now then… Entering first, weighing in at a hundred and seventy-five kilograms, is the defending champion of the Darkside Unrestricted Tournament! The Mountain that Walks! The Big Dog of Darkside! Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you — GREGOR O'CONNOR!"

The crowd roared in delights as the portcullis on the other side of the arena raised itself, and from the shadows, a bare foot the size of Lake Michigan stepped out into the light. As O'Connor strode with huge steps to the announcer, I managed to get a good look at him from in between the bars of the portcullis. He was almost seven feet tall, and seemed to be made entirely of muscle, with close-cropped dark brown hair and a beard covering the lower half of his hard face.

The announcer then turned his head towards the portcullis on my side of the arena, glancing at the crowd of spectators standing above the arena as he did so. "Entering second, weighing in at sixty-one kilograms, is tonight's challenger! The Yank that Hits Like a Tank! The Scrappy Young Scamp! Ladies and gentleman, please welcome — HUNTER FREY!"

As the portcullis opened on my end of the arena, I stepped forward into the arena with my bare feet to meet with my opponent and the announcer. Nodding in acknowledgement of the giant O'Connor, I then turned towards the announcer, who had brought his microphone towards my mouth. "Now, everyone here knows O'Connor, but can't say the same for you. So how old are you, lad?"

"Eighteen." I lied easily as I glanced up at the expectant faces of the overlooking crowd.

"So why are you here in the arena tonight, lad?"

"I entered the tournament on a lark." I answered honestly this time as the mic was brought around in front of my mouth again. "I needed to work off some stress and I thought I'd be eliminated within the first few rounds."

"I see, I see…" The announcer said into his microphone. He then beckoned me and O'Connor to lean in close to him as he spoke into his mic. "Now then, I want a nice, clean fight. No hitting in between the legs, no excessive use of force, and no hitting your opponent when they're down. The match ends when one of you yields or is unable to continue after a count of ten. Other than that, anything goes."

O'Connor and I both nodded our agreement, and the announcer stood up, satisfied, as we both headed to our respective corners. "Let's get ready to RUMBLE!"

The crowd cheered as the announcer got out of the way, and many were waving wads of pound notes as the announcer raised the mic to his lips again. "FIGHT!"

At the command of the announcer, O'Connor and I began circling each other like wolves, and it was he who threw the first punch. His right fist came barreling towards my face like a meaty freight train, but luckily, I was just a bit faster. I could feel the wind rush past my cheek as I moved my head out of the way and countered with a left jab to his torso. Though a week's worth of almost-nonstop strength and martial arts training had toughened me up considerably, putting considerable lean muscle on my body, it still wasn't enough to get much out of O'Connor.

I followed through with a series of jabs and straights that ended with a knee slammed into his thigh, but I might as well have been trying to break through a castle wall, for all the good I was doing. O'Connor then roared as he caught me in a bear hug, and kicking at my captor, I brought my head forward to slam it right into the middle of his forehead. He gasped in pain as he let go of me and reeled backwards, and I grimaced as I rubbed my aching forehead in pain.

We soon recovered from the first exchange of blows, and again, we circled each others like two members of the pack vying for the position of alpha male. He had strength, I had speed, and so I resolved to wear down his endurance before going in for the final blow. Bringing my fists up to guard my face, I deflected one of his left jabs to the side before moving out of the way of his followup punch. Disengaging from my opponent, I created some distance in between us as I considered my next move.

However, it was O'Connor who decided my next course of action by throwing subtlety out the window in order to football tackle me like a charging bull or a fat guy towards the very last Twinkie in the world. For a man of his size, he sure was awful fast. My mind went out on autopilot as everything seemed to slow down, the roar of the crowd and the commentary of the announcer reduced to meaningless noise as I reacted to the threat. Stepping to the side at the last possible moment, I then brought my shin to meet his as hard as I could.

Gregor O'Connor was sent toppling onto the ground as I hissed in pain, but he was quick to get up before the announcer could start counting down. He stepped forward, his shadow almost completely covering me as he brought his fists up once more.

If I wanted to win this match, I either had to finish this in one shot or take him down with bug bites. However, if I was hit even once, it was pretty much all over. Then again, it's pretty hard to hit something when it's moving much faster than you are. Even so, I had to make my next moves carefully.

The next few minutes were spent dodging and dealing blows to O'Connor. Whenever I was presented with the choice between dodging a hit from O'Connor or landing a hit on him, I always chose the former. The constant assault was beginning to wear on O'Connor, and it showed. Then the moment came.

O'Connor swung his right fist in a mean hook, but I ducked underneath the blow. As he swung his left fist in another hook, I leaned backwards, his knuckles just barely missing my face before bringing my fist forward to punch him in the face. A satisfyingly meaty smack was heard as O'Connor was sent stumbling backwards, but he recovered just in time to throw another right straight at my face.

However, his blow came a little too short of its mark, and as his arm dropped, I grabbed it and slammed my elbow hard into his bicep before bringing my knee up into his stomach. As his head jerked back from the blow, I head-butted O'Connor in the forehead. Fighting through the pain in my head, I brought my foot up to kick him hard in the stomach as he reeled backwards, in a way that would make King Leonidas from the movie _300_ proud.

As O'Connor fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach in pain, the audience began chanting. "Ten…! Nine…! Eight…! Seven…! Six…! Five…! Four…! Three…! Two…! One…! ZERO!"

The crowd went into a frenzy as the announcer raised my fist into the air. As for myself, I simply waved, smiling back at the crowd as I basked in the attention for a little while, the announcer's words over the loudspeaker sounding all throughout the fight club. "Ladies and gentlemen! We have our champion!"

* * *

After flipping the hood of my hoodie on, I was just about to zip up my jacket and leave the locker room when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I started in shock, and cautiously turning around, I saw that it was the announcer, holding a bundle of pound notes held together by a rubber band. "You forgot your purse for winning the tournament."

Catching the money, I flipped through the stack, counting the fivers held together by the rubber band one by one, and I whistled softly in appreciation as the numbers grew higher and higher. "Five hundred quid, huh?"

"Yep. A hundred for each round you won." The announcer said as he held a hand out to me. "Stay safe out there, lad."

I regarded the announcer carefully for a moment before smiling cautiously at him. Putting the money into my jacket before zipping my hoodie up, I shook his hand before turning around and leaving the fight club out the backdoor into the shadowy, grimy streets of Darkside after dark.

* * *

In contrast to Darkside, the Temple Club was located in the good, paved-with-gold part of Ealdwic, London. Owned and operated by the Templars, it was the favored hangout spot for many of the blue-blooded "Old Guard" that could trace their lineage back centuries to prominent European magi or even further. It was here that my handler, Richard Sonnac, invited me to dinner to discuss how I was doing.

The Temple Club was as posh as the fight club in Darkside was grimy, and even in the tailored three-piece suit Sonnac took the liberty of paying for me, I couldn't help but feel out of place, and I had yet to step inside. Tugging at the sleeves of my dark jacket and tie, I took a deep breath to steady myself before striding as confidently as I could towards the twin mahogany doors, which the red-clad doorman opened for me as I approached.

"Ah, Mr. Mercer!" Sonnac said as he saw me approach where he was standing on the red velvet carpet of the Temple Club's vestibule. "So glad you could join me tonight. Come, and we shall get ourselves a table for supper."

I followed Sonnac to the dining room of the Temple Club, where several old men dressed in formalwear of various combinations of red, black, and white were sitting at the covered tables. Mounted on the polished wooden walls of the dining room were oil paintings that looked like they had robbed from the workshops of Raphael or Leonardo da Vinci, depicting the glories and triumphs of the Templars throughout the ages.

As I sat down with Sonnac at one of the tables, I couldn't help but feel the curiosity and the subtle disdain coming from the other patrons of the establishment, and my sense of feeling out of place only grew stronger and worse. I did my best to ignore it by focusing on what to order from the menu.

The menu was a combination of British, French, and Italian dishes — the very best of European-style cuisine. There was silence for a minute or so as Sonnac and I decided on our order, save for the murmur of conversation all around us and the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. As I was debating on whether or not to order dessert, my train of thought as interrupted by the sound of Sonnac's voice. "So how is your training coming along?"

"It's going well, sir." I said as I thought back to the training I had been going through since my partner Priscilla Ross and I had come back from my first assignment on Solomon Island, off the coast of Maine.

With the help of Avalon's rapid regenerative powers, I had grown muscle very rapidly, since my newfound healing ability allowed me to heal the tears in my muscle, encouraging it to grow faster. I had also gone through a crash course in sharpshooting and basic demolitions training, having shown an aptitude for both precision marksmanship and explosives during my time on Solomon Island. Sonnac nodded as he set his menu down onto the white tablecloth. "And your therapy sessions with Dr. Collins?"

I suppressed a grimace at the mention of my weekly sessions with my therapist as I too set my menu down. Don't get me wrong — Dr. Andrew Collins wasn't a bad guy or anything, but that didn't stop me from feeling that our sessions were going nowhere. "They're going about as well as they can be, considering it's only been a week."

Sonnac regarded me for a moment with his dark brown eyes as a waiter dressed in a suit came to our table. "Ah, Mr. Sonnac! What can I get for you and your young companion to drink?"

"I shall have my usual burgundy, and you, Mr. Mercer?"

"Water will be just fine, please." I answered, feeling that trying to get a Coke or something would only get more noses turned up at me.

"And are you two ready to order?"

Sonnac glanced at me before answering. "Yes. I shall have the ossobuco with the parmigiana polenta and the fennel salad with port wine reduction, and Mr. Mercer will have…"

"The beef bourguignon, please." I said, hoping I got the French pronunciation right.

"Any dessert for tonight?"

Sonnac and I both shook our heads no, and the waiter nodded as he finished scribbling down our order on his small yellow notepad. As our waiter left for the kitchens, Sonnac then turned to face me again. "How are your magical studies coming along?"

"Just fine. I've been reviewing the books you've given me whenever I'm not in the Crucible." I answered, my mind drifting back to the late, sleepless nights spent studying the various magical tomes in my room. "I think I can make use of a few of the spells in them."

Sonnac nodded, and we sat together in silence as the waiter brought us our drinks, and I watched as a red, shimmering waterfall was poured out from the mouth of the bottle of Burgundy into Sonnac's crystal clear wineglass. "Your dishes should be ready soon."

Sonic and I both nodded, and as the waiter left our table again, I raised my glass of water to my lips. It was then that Sonnac asked me another question. "So I hear that you've been participating in the fights at Darkside."

Luckily, I had enough self-control to keep Sonnac from wearing my drink, and I set my glass down onto the white tablecloth before answering. One look at Sonnac told me that no amount of bullshit would get him to believe me, so I resolved to be honest. "Yeah… What about it?"

"While I do not condone your participation, of course, I do understand that you've been feeling restless after what happened on the New England coast. Your hours spent in the Crucible with Miss Ross and Brigadier Lethe only support that theory. I want to tell you that there's no shame in feeling the way you do — in feeling that if you slow down, the bad memories will catch up to you. That if you sleep, the nightmares will come and haunt you."

I remained silent, focusing steadfastly on my glass of water as Sonnac continued. "However, there are more productive ways in which to utilize those urges. If you're truly chomping at the bit to 'see some action,' as I believe they put it at the Horned God these days, I'm sure Dame Julia could use you, despite your young age."

"…Thank you, sir." I answered cautiously as I set my empty glass of water back down onto the table. We sat in silence for who knows how long, and it was just beginning to grow awkward when our waiter returned, carrying our orders on a tray. After refilling our glasses, he left just as quickly as he had came.

I took a moment to appreciate the plating of the food on the table before tucking in. In front of me on a plate of fine white china was a stew of beef braised with red Burgundy and beef broth, with pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon cubes also on the plate.

In front of Sonnac was a Milanese dish made of braised veal shanks with vegetables, white wine, and broth. Garnished with _gremolata_ made of chopped parsley, garlic, and grated lemon zest, the ossobuco was accompanied by a small bowl of cornmeal porridge with parmesan cheese and a salad with a dark red sauce.

Picking up my silver fork, I speared one of the cubes of beef and placed it in my mouth. It had a delicious smoky taste to it, perfectly cooked, and the various flavors blended together wonderfully with a sort of slightly sticky sweetness that I guessed was honey. I guessed the chef must've put it in to help break down the proteins in the meat with the honey's protease. "I see that you're enjoying the food."

"Yes, sir!" I answered as I stabbed another piece of meat with as much eagerness as my surroundings would allow and chewed on it with relish. Sonnac looked at me with amusement in his eyes as he sipped at his glass of wine.

"You know, I do believe that Chef Roland Beauregard and his _brigade de cuisine_ are in need of some extra help in the club's kitchens, especially during dinner rush. Perhaps you would find more enjoyment in that instead of engaging in petty brawls in Darkside…"

I nodded as I swallowed another bite of stewed beef, and Sonnac smiled. "Then we shall speak with Chef Beauregard after supper and see if he'd be willing to take you on for a few nights. My only condition is that you stop sneaking out of the apartment at night to go to Darkside. You seem to have gotten better at sneaking around in the dark, I'll admit, but you're no Lupin."

"Thank you, sir. I'll stop going to Darkside." I said, and we clinked our glasses together to seal the deal. The rest of the evening was spent on small talk and enjoying the rest of our meal until the bill came.

* * *

 **EDITS**

 **January 4th, 2016: Changed a few things here and there, as I felt the end product was a bit rushed and could've used more detail.**


	2. Brooklyn Trek: Into Darkness

A few days later, I was in the kitchenette of the apartment I was staying in for the summer, finishing up dinner preparations before I had to leave for my shift at the Temple Club. I was already dressed in the uniform the kitchen staff had provided for me — a plain white chef's jacket worn over a T-shirt and black pants with rubber clogs — and my new knife bag was slung over my shoulder.

As I got up from putting my curried chicken and broccoli casserole into the oven, I heard my phone ring on the kitchen counter. Quickly setting the oven to bake for thirty minutes, I hurried to pick up the phone and bring it to my ear. "Mom?"

"Hi, honey." Mom's voice said over the phone. As always, her voice was tired, but her tone made it clear she was happy to see me. It was comforting, in a way. "How's your summer in London going? Are you liking your internship at the restaurant?"

"My summer's been pretty good so far." I said, straight-faced. I mean, it wasn't a _complete_ lie — after all the times I could've died in the past few days, I'd say surviving each and every one of them made for a good vacation. "As for my staging at the Temple Club, it's been… hectic, but also really interesting. Sure, the staff suffers newbies poorly, but they warm up to you, once you learn how to peel veggies fast enough. I've learned a lot from them in the past few days. So how's your summer going?"

Mom then proceeded to tell me about the various happenings within the company she worked for, but for all I remember about that conversation, it might as well have been white noise coming from a TV with a spotty reception. The words were all meaningless to me now, as if they were being spoken in the language of a far off land. Still, it was nice to hear — a comfort to the ears. "Well, I guess I better get going now. I don't want you to be late for work. Call me if anything's bothering you, okay?"

"Alright. I'll talk to you later." I said as I pressed the button on my phone to hang up. As I did so, I felt my gut wrench and my heart twist itself into a meaty pretzel. Even if I _could_ tell my mother, what the hell was I supposed to say to her? _Hey Mom, can you help deal with the emotional issues that come from surviving a life-and-death situation involving a lunatic Norse trickster god with a magical sword?_ Yeah, right…

As I pocketed my phone and got up from leaning against the kitchen table, I looked to see the older sister I never had, Priscilla Ross, standing in the doorway to the kitchenette. "Oh hey, Priscilla. Dinner should be ready in the oven in… twenty-five minutes."

Priscilla looked at me with concern in her brown eyes as I edged towards the door. "Hey, are you okay? You've been pushing yourself almost nonstop ever since we came back from Solomon Island. When you're not attending your therapy sessions with Dr. Collins, you've been training nonstop, and now you're working in the evenings. Aren't you tired or stressed out?"

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, and I, of course, neglected to mention my late night "activities" in Darkside. I didn't need another reason for Priscilla to get on my case. "Yeah, well… I admit I've been working hard, lately, but… I'll try and take it easy once in a while. I'll be fine — honest."

Priscilla still looked doubtful, but finally, she reluctantly nodded. "Alright. You'd better get going. I'll see you later tonight."

* * *

The next day, I was practicing my shooting alone in the Crucible. Priscilla had been called away on another assignment, so I was left to my own devices. I suppose you might think that's irresponsible, but I've been a latchkey kid for a long time now, since Mom had to work to support the both of us. At the very least, I like to think I can go a few hours without adult supervision, and Sonnac seemed to think so, too.

As I raised my Beretta 92FS Compact into the air and stared down the tritium sights, I could feel beneath my fingers the black Templar cross embossed onto the new white grips. Blue light then glowed from the minuscule tribal engravings running down the length of my sidearm's slide as I charged my anima up.

As I fired my spell from the gun, it blossomed into seven different blue fireballs that sped towards the target. Each left behind a trail of blue light like the tail of a comet, and each made for an explosive punch as they struck home. I paused for a moment to observe the results of my attack on the chained-up demon in front of me before recharging the anima inside my sidearm.

My Beretta had been upgraded since my return to London, and like the lighter John Wolf had given me, it could store anima and be used as a focus for my magical powers. As I readied another spell, I could feel my phone vibrate inside the pocket of my jeans. Lowering my gun and switching the safety on, I quickly made my way outside the Crucible to a secluded spot outside the doors.

Removing my ear and eye protection, I pocketed the shooting glasses and let the soundproof headphones hang around my neck as I brought out my phone and raised it to my ear. "Hello?"

"This is Dame Julia Beatrix Tyburn speaking." The formal voice of an old woman spoke over the phone. "Am I speaking to Chase Mercer?"

"Yes, ma'am." I said. I then heard the distinct sound of the phone on the other end of the line being dropped onto the floor, and then a few quietly muttered curses as it was picked up again. "Is something wrong, ma'am?"

"They had the audacity to give me one of these new smartphones. I don't need _smart_ , I need _functional_." Dame Julia grumbled. I couldn't help but smile a little at that. Old people with new technology was always good for a brief bit of amusement. "I've been told good things about you by Sonnac. That's all well and good, but if you wish to impress _me_ , you'll have to prove yourself by showing some backbone and commitment."

"Understood, ma'am. What do you need me for?"

"Please report to the vestibule at your earliest convenience. We have an assignment for you." There was a beat, and then Dame Julia added, "Your earliest convenience would be at this very moment."

Well, why didn't she just say so? Of course, I didn't voice this thought aloud as I spoke into my phone's receiver. "Understood, ma'am. I'm on my way."

* * *

"Stand up straight!" Dame Julia said sharply as I stood in front of her like a captured deserter brought in front of a firing squad. "Is this really what you wear? Your generation has lost all sense of decorum. Does no one care about appearances anymore? In my day, you would never see a Templars soldier out of uniform…"

"Apologies, ma'am — I never got one." I said honestly, interrupting her ramblings, as I took in the sight of Dame Julia. I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that this little old lady _definitely_ wasn't the same breed as Mrs. Potts from my hours volunteering at the seniors' dance class.

If I had to guess, I'd say Dame Julia was in her early seventies, with pale gray hair cut short and a face with many wrinkles, but no weakness to it. She wore a red, white, and black uniform coat whose tails reached down to her ankles over white trousers and black boots. Steel pauldrons, like the ones you'd see on a medieval suit of armor, were worn on her shoulders on both sides of her high collar, and at her side was a sword in its scabbard. In comparison, I must've looked pretty shabby to her, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket like I was.

Dame Julia waved the matter aside with a gloved hand as she too took the time to observe me. Her lip curled in distaste, but she spoke in a way that couldn't really be construed as offensive, at least for her. I got the feeling she was like that with most of the "commoners" she interacted with, not just the young whippersnappers like me.

"So you're Sonnac's new favorite, are you? This must be very exciting for you, being as young as you are. Of course, in my day, it wasn't enough to put your nose to the grindstone. You had to be someone. Your family name had to be listed in the registry. You were expected to have history. The sort of history that matters. I suppose it's a sign of the times, and the pickle we've found ourselves in, that blood nor age no longer carries quite as much cachet."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I like to think of myself as competent, despite my youth and inexperience." I said diplomatically. Whatever I felt about her opinions, I kept it to myself. She was pretty high up on the Templar pecking order, so it would be less than wise to lose my cool and piss her off. "So what is to be my assignment, ma'am?"

"We need you to go to Brooklyn. There's talk of the Illuminati dealing with the organized occult criminal elements in New York. We're told they've gotten their hands on something rather… _filthy_."

And here was me hoping I wouldn't have to do much more than fetch coffee or something. Still, the Filth and the gangs of New York was something I could deal with. Dame Julia then continued. "Look into it. I won't insult you with a 'please.'"

"Understood, ma'am." I said, snapping off a quick salute. Dame Julia eyed me critically for a moment before giving a grudging nod of satisfaction. Then turning on my heel, I then began the walk back to the apartment to prepare for the mission.

* * *

It was around three in the morning in New York by the time I arrived from Agartha. True to its nickname, the city that never sleeps was alive and well below me. Apartment windows glowed yellow with light as cars stuck in the infamous Big Apple traffic honked their horns, and pedestrians bustled through the sidewalks in order to save half a second on their travel time. I had been here once before with Mom on a business trip, before I knew that the city was where the Illuminati called home after the Templars kicked them out of Europe.

However, I had no time to waste on people-watching, so I turned away from the window of the abandoned building I was in. The only light came from the golden glow of the portal to Agartha, and turning away from the light, I headed downstairs to street level. As I descended down the rickety stairs, my phone rang, and the caller ID said that Dame Julia was calling. "Yes, ma'am?"

"We have received the coordinates for a meeting between the Illuminati representatives and the black market traders." Dame Julia's strict voice said. "It's in a car park, of all places. The Illuminati have no sense of style, none at all."

"The boys in the computer department told me to tell you they are 'uploading' the information to your telephone. Why we couldn't just tell you where to go is beyond me. When I was a field operative, I kept my journal in an _actual_ journal…"

I decided to let Dame Julia ramble on about things back in the good old days, when people thought the earth was flat and rode on the backs of dinosaurs. With old people monologue, it's easiest to just let them talk and run out of steam, and besides, I might actually learn something from this veteran Templar.

Since I didn't have a subway card, I was forced to leg it to the coordinates uploaded to my phone. The numerous crosswalks and traffic intersections that forced me to stop and wait didn't do much to help speed up my journey, either, but in the end, I arrived at the underground parking garage Dame Julia had mentioned without much trouble. It was made of concrete with cracks showing, and it had that damp underground smell mixed with the stench of gasoline and machine oil coming out of it.

Ducking beneath the bar blocking vehicular access to the building, I headed inside the building. Blinking lights shone from the ceiling, illuminating anonymous cars long since abandoned by their owners. "I'm at the meeting place, ma'am, but I'm not seeing anyone. Got any ideas on what to do next?"

There was a pause in the conversation before Dame Julia responded. "There is a security booth somewhere in the vicinity. There might be something of use in there."

"I see it." I said as I spotted said booth. The door was locked, of course, but that was a minor inconvenience that could be solved with a single Reinforced punch through the glass window. As I opened the door by reaching inside, I saw that the computer was still on and depicting the views of the various security cameras scattered around the parking garage.

I then spotted an interesting figure walk into the line of sight of one of the cameras, and I sat down in the ratty old swivel chair next to the desk to watch. It appeared to be a Asian woman dressed in green, and though I didn't recognize her, I _did_ recognize the symbol sewn onto the sleeve of her jacket. "So the Dragon's in on this too, huh…?"

"The Dragon, you say? Be careful." Dame Julia said, and I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, as my gaze landed what appeared to be a fusebox.

Getting up from my seat on the swivel chair, I raised my hand, and it crackled with blue electricity as I thrust it towards the fusebox. As the fusebox was flooded with power to the point that it couldn't handle all of it, it blew out, knocking out all the lights and security cameras. "I knocked out the fusebox."

Over the phone, Dame Julia hummed in what I believed to be approval. "This reminds me of a mission I was sent on during the Great War…"

"Wait, you fought in the first World War?" I couldn't help but interrupt. "But that was a century ago, and you don't look _that_ old…"

"Well, magi do live longer and age better, owing to the excess life energy in our bodies that allow us to perform magic." Dame Julia explained patiently.

"Now, as I was saying, Miss Plimmswood and I had to douse all the gaslights and make our way through a bunker in the dark. We combined two spells to make a makeshift sonar, saved us from falling into a bottomless pit and getting eaten by— But that's neither here nor there. Chop chop! Now's the perfect opportunity to get your hands on the contraband merchandise."

"Alright. I'm hanging up now. Wish me luck." I said as I ended the call. Drawing my pistol as I made my way out of the pitch black security booth, I began relying on my magically-enhanced sense of hearing in order to get around. For the most part, there wasn't really anything out of the ordinary, though to be safe, I kept my hand on the wall and stayed close to it.

It was a good thing, too, as I heard the sounds of a firefight not too long afterwards. In addition to a newly-enchanted Beretta, I had gotten new earplugs to go along with them — ones that reduced gunshot noises to safe levels so that I could maintain situational awareness while still protecting my hearing. Striking a balance between speed and stealth, I made my way towards where the noise was coming from.

I turned a corner, and there he was, firing off an assault rifle at the oncoming horde of Filth zombies. In the light of the gun's muzzle flare, I could see he was wearing a gas mask and the Illuminati pyramid on his blue coat. Lying next to his feet in a pool of blood was the dead body of the Dragon agent I had seen earlier on the security cams. Before I could even decide whether or not to help him, the magazine of the Illuminati agent's assault rifle ran dry, and the poor guy's scream was muffled by the darkness and his gas mask as he was mobbed by the Frankies.

I forced myself to wait for five minutes in order for the Frankies to wander away before going over to investigate the bodies. Using my phone as a tiny flashlight, I did my best to make the inspection go as quickly as possible, lest the Frankies catch me, too. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the "contraband," even when I listened closely for any sign of magic, but searching bodies is hard, even when you haven't taken a shotgun blast to the torso.

In my experience, being hit with buckshot is one of the worse feelings in the world. It starts painful at one point in your body, and it only gets worse as the shot travels. It was like having a rose made of swords blossom inside your body, slicing and cutting through your insides like butcher's knives. As I weakly clutched at my chest in pain, I wondered if I was dying, only to remember I had Avalon to keep me from joining Joe Slater and Not-Ellis Hill. Still, it didn't stop my healed wounds from experiencing phantom pains.

On the bright side, all the blood and agonized groaning did make my presumed death look more realistic. Personally, I thought the sound of me coughing up blood onto the concrete was a nice touch, and the stranger who shot me seemed to think so, too.

He was a pretty ordinary-looking dude dressed in street clothes, with a pretty forgettable face, judging from what I could see in the light of his flashlight, and I did my best to stay still while Avalon healed me up as he too bent down to examine the bodies, sawn-off shotgun set aside. It was an agonizing few minutes of stillness as he took his sweet time with the corpses, but finally, he seemed to give up on his search, which was a relief, since I felt like I was going to get cramps playing possum.

As he stood up and turned his back on me, I struck like a cobra lying in wait. The first shot got him through the spine, and the second passed through the back of his skull. As I stood up in my bloody jacket, I picked up the dead man's flashlight and turned his body over so that I could get a good photo of his face and send it back to Temple Hall for analysis.

"Now, this is interesting." Dame Julia remarked a little while later. "The boys with their computers are running some sort of facial recognition program on the body, but I don't need them to tell me that this fellow isn't Illuminati. He is Phoenician, which complicates matters."

"So what's the plan, now that the 'merchandise' is gone?"

"I'll have to discuss this with the Force Marshal. You can leave. You ought to, before you're swamped by the infected. There is nothing more to be accomplished for now."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll report back immediately."

* * *

"Nice work out there. We have nothing more for you right now." Dame Julia said as I stood in front of her inside the vestibule of Temple Hall. "I'll give you a ring the next time we require your services."

"Yes, ma'am." I said as I saluted her, and I thought I could detect a glimmer of something in her steely eyes as she inspected me. A grudging respect, or perhaps even approval for this member of the "New Blood"? Either one seemed too much to hope for.

"Well?" Dame Julia's stern voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Go on, I'm not the mothering type. This is as much praise as you'll ever get from me."

"Very well, ma'am. I'll be in the city if you need me."

As I stepped outside the marble of Temple Hall and onto the concrete of Ealdwic, my phone buzzed again as it vibrated in my pocket. Taking it out, I looked to see that it was Sonnac calling. Pressing the green button onscreen, I spoke into the receiver. "Yes, sir?"

"I've just been informed of your return to London." Sonnac's smooth voice said over the phone. "As much as I hate to interrupt your respite, I'm afraid Inspector Shelley will be needing your assistance in Darkside. Miss Ross is already at the scene. Don't keep them waiting too long. It might wear on the detective's sunny disposition."

"No problem, sir." I said, and as I hung up, I picked up the pace and hurried to Darkside.


	3. CSI: London

Even in daylight, the seedy streets of Darkside were foreboding. A mix of Victorian and shantytown architecture was illuminated by the various colors of the flickering neon signs. Rats squeaked as they scurried out of sight into the shadows, and hooded figures in tattered cloaks haggled with stall owners over sundry wares.

I then paused as I heard a retching sound coming from behind me, and a second later, vomit came splattering down onto the cobblestone street, splashing my shoe with someone's half-digested lunch. I groaned in disgust as I stepped backwards and looked up from beneath the hood of my jacket, and I saw that a man dressed in the uniform of the Metropolitan Police heaving on the balcony above.

Stepping wide of the man's vomit puddle, I spotted a set of rickety stairs made of cobbled-together junk nearby, leading up to where the barfing bobby was. Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I nonchalantly flicked my foot for it to be set on fire, and the blue flames crackled as they burned away the policeman's puke. As the fire extinguished itself with a soft, snakelike hiss, leaving behind small wisps of smoke rising from the toe, I began my ascent up to the balcony.

As I reached the last flight of stairs, I spotted Priscilla and Inspector Shelley from behind the two cops standing guard, and I waved to them as I ascended the steps, metal clanging as my shoes landed on them.

Brushing past the guards with a muttered apology, I nodded to Priscilla and then to Inspector Shelley as she chewed something that sounded crunchy. "I remember you. You're Mercer, right?"

I nodded, and Inspector Shelley then held towards me what appeared to be a tin of little white candies. "Mint?"

"Sure." I said as I took one from the tin and popped it into my mouth. The peppermint flavor was strong, and I rolled it over several times in my mouth with my tongue, making sure to suck out every last bit of sweet, sharp flavor.

"Terrible habit." Inspector Shelley remarked as she too helped herself to a mint. "I needs to quit smoking, but I think I'll have to start again to get off the mints."

She then spared a glance over her shoulder towards the cop still puking over the railing, who must have vomited up the remains of a seven-course feast at this point.

"Ritual murders are hard on the digestive system, but it _is_ part of the job. Part of this assignment. It's tough, and it takes some getting used to. Not everyone does, so they keep having to send me fresh meat. You'd think they'd do a more thorough job with the psych evaluation. The assignment is called 'Cults and the Occult' for a reason."

"So what happened here?" I asked, gesturing towards the yellow police tape all around us. Aside from the police marking their territory, nothing on the outside seemed out of place, so I assumed the murder took place behind the doors we were standing outside of.

"While you two were out of town, we tied a couple of homicides back to the exotic black markets here." Inspector Shelley explained. " _Unnatural_ homicides… if murder was ever a natural part of things."

"So you need help with cleaning up?" I asked, but Inspector Shelley shook her head no.

"We'll take care of it. We always do… But before we do, you'll need to have a poke around the crime scene. Some… _things_ need to be kept out of the official reports, even if the reports are automatically filed under Agenda 71."

I had no idea what the hell Agenda 71 meant, but Inspector Shelley continued explaining anyway. "It's procedure. Besides, Sonnac likes to send his own people for anything of this nature. I assume he told you what you're looking for?"

I glanced at Priscilla, but even she seemed at a loss. Guess Sonnac didn't see fit to tell her, either. Inspector Shelley then waved her hand dismissively. "Frankly, I don't want to know. I'd warn you, but I imagine you've seen worse since we last met."

Inspector Shelley then proffered us the tin of mints again. "One more for the road? It might help keep your dinner down."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Priscilla said, but I wordlessly took another mint as I swallowed my first. I popped the second into my mouth as Priscilla opened the door for me and stepped inside after me. The hallway the door lead into twisted and turned in ways that shouldn't have been possible due to the floor's small size, until it ended inside a meat locker, though I had no idea who used it, seeing as how inconvenient it would be to get its supply to the nearest restaurant, which was street level and on the far corner of the city block.

Around the corner, I caught my first glimpse of the scene of the crime. Red candles were laid in a half-circle facing towards the entrance, and trails of crimson wax all pointed to a mangled corpse lying on the floor. Around us, suspended from meat hooks, were several bloodied bodies, looking like men hung from the gallows.

I shivered, though not from the horrific sight. It was freezing cold in the meat locker. Here I was, not even sixteen and already used to the sight of dead bodies. Probably a bad sign.

I then noticed that on a nearby shelf, in the place of packaged meat and other foods, was a row of leather-bound books. Their spines had titles written in Mesopotamian cuneiform, Chinese characters, as well as other scripts I couldn't make heads or tails of. It was then that I heard Priscilla's voice. "Hey, take a look at these!"

I turned to see Priscilla holding one of those old-fashioned tape recorders in her hand. Atop the trolley next to her, I could see two more, each labeled with a number scribbled onto duct tape. As Priscilla pressed the play button, a voice began to speak and fill the meat locker. "This is Nick Lambe. I'm recording this as a reference for those who come after me. For future research."

Oh great, yet another magus that got too caught up in his research. Horror stories of magi crossing lines both formally and informally drawn by the Council of Venice were depressingly common. All the factions kept leashes on their occult academics to one extent or another. Even the Illuminati realize it's bad business to let too much of their talent get taken in by whatever the hell they conjured up this time.

"I… I retrieved an item from a crate that came through the warehouse." The voice of Nick Lambe continued. "I could hear it from my office the night it arrived. It whispered to me.

"It's an Egyptian mirror in the shape of an ankh. Very old, can't place it. Ebony frame, polished metal surface, but not copper. Inscribed with the symbol of the sun god, Aten. But most incredibly, it's full of stars. The mirror isn't a mirror. It's a window into another world."

Like the worst novels, I could already tell where this was going, and my hunch was confirmed by Nick Lambe's next words. "I'm going to London. I have contacts there, and I can find the tools I need. Ingredients… I'm going to find a way to open the window."

As the recording stopped, Priscilla reached for the next one, and we listened in silence as Nick Lambe spoke in a frightened voice that sounded like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in ages. "The stars are talking to me. I don't sleep anymore. W-When I slip into dreaming, I hear them. They whisper. T-They tell me to do things…

"The mirror is hungry. For blood. For flesh. Oh, God help me, I can't stop myself… I want to do everything it's asked me to. Oh, what's happening to me?"

The third recording proved itself to be just as bleak as the other two, with the desperate, despairing voice Nick Lambe sounding all throughout the meat locker. "Oh, Jesus! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ! What have I done? What have I _done_?

"I've killed. I've fed the mirror. It was insatiable. It wanted more, and then the window opened and the darkness came through. Now this… _thing_ is inside me. It's multiplying. L-Like, uh… _Worms_ , squirming in my soul.

Nick Lambe took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself before speaking. "If the darkness breaks free, it'll… I have to trap it. Inside me. I have to bind it. In a prison of flesh, the thing inside me and the mirror that unleashed it. There's a spell. I found a book. It's… I need to sacrifice myself to trap it. It has to be contained, even if it means… Oh my god… May God have mercy on my dark soul…"

The recording came to an end with a soft click, and Priscilla set it gently down onto the trolley next to the others. We both then turned our gazes towards the candles surrounding the body, their wicks still burning and flickering. "Those candles… Are they…?"

"Yes." Priscilla answered as she set down her duffel bag and unzipped it out. As she brought out her shotgun, she said, "They're the things still binding the 'darkness' to the body of Nick Lambe. I bet if we snuff them out, whatever possess Nick will be set free, allowing us to take it down. You ready?"

I nodded as I drew my Beretta from its holster and switched the safety off. Checking to make sure the chamber was loaded, I then took up a position in the corner of the room, with Priscilla positioning herself in another. Raising my hand, I then felt a breeze begin to swirl around my hand, and as I held out my hand towards the candles, the wind I had conjured up blew out their wicks.

For a moment, there was a pregnant silence in the air, but then I felt my earplugs muffle the sound of a thunderous roar filling the room. One moment, I was on my feet, and in the next, I was sitting on my ass in a corner of the room, dazed. Shaking off my confusion, I then brought my gun up to fire at the monster as I scrambled to my feet.

The monster in question was dressed like your stereotypical Grim Reaper: a skeleton dressed in a black hooded robe, wielding a large scythe with a slightly-curved shaft. As Priscilla opened fire on the Reaper with her shotgun, I let loose with a bunch of mundane bullets, not wanting to risk being roasted alive. Off in the distance, I could hear the doors to the meat locker bang open, and I could only hope that was Inspector Shelley coming in with backup.

I hit the floor as I was caught with no ammo in my gun, and the Reaper's scythe just barely missed me, leaving a long gash in the wall. I then gave it a little something to think about, in the form of a fiery Reinforced fist to its skeletal face. As it staggered backwards, or rather, floated backwards like a struck balloon, Priscilla followed through with a shotgun blast to the face.

It was then that Inspector Shelley arrived with the rest of the cops, pistols in hand, and our guns joined theirs in a crescendo of gunfire that probably would've left us all deaf if we hadn't been wearing earplugs. Even amidst the gunshots, I could hear the Reaper wailings it death cry, which just goes to show that you have nothing to fear, provided you had enough bullets, of course.

The scythe clattered onto the floor, knocking over some of the red candles before dissipating into particles, and the Reaper crumpled to a heap of black cloth onto the floor, looking like a pile of really dirty laundry. As the police officers lowered their weapons, Priscilla and I stepped forward to inspect the Reaper's remains. As we knelt down near the heap of cloth, we spotted something gleaming from within the blackness. After putting on my shooting gloves, I reached in order to examine the object.

As Nick Lambe had described it, the ankh was made of a polished black metal we couldn't identify, and it looked like a T with a loop on top of it. It was plain-looking, but I could feel the power coming from it, like I was gazing at a stormy sea on the horizon. I then looked to see Priscilla bring out a carved wooden box from her duffel bag.

The dark wood of the box was covered in runes, hieroglyphics, and all manner of ancient protective scripts, so much so that I could probably put a live grenade in there, shut the lid, and not hear so much as a pop come from the gap between the lid and box.

Anyway, as the ankh was placed within the velvet interior of the box, Priscilla shut the lid and put the box back into the duffel bag. Getting up from the floor, Priscilla then turned to Inspector Shelley. "Thanks for the save, Inspector. Chase and I'll be going now. I know exactly who to see about stuff like this."


	4. Surprise, Surprise, Another Great Evil

The library at the Temple Club was located in a round room that was tall rather than wide. In the walls were bookshelves filled with ancient spell books and leather-bound tomes, and tables and chairs made of dark wood and plush red velvet were scattered on the red carpet.

Before me and Priscilla, staring covetously at the ankh we had recovered like it was the One Ring, was Iain Tibet Gladstone, the Templars' foremost expert on the occult. When I first laid eyes on him, my first thought was, "Rasputin?"

In my defense, Gladstone _did_ look like the Russian monk, with his long dark hair and beard. A sickly sweet herbal smell emanated from his black robes, which made me wonder about the extent of his… _eccentricities_. Still, I suppose that as long as you were good enough at your job, you could get away with a lot, even amongst the Templars, though from what I've heard, Gladstone was still banned from Oxford for… whatever reason.

"Shocking!" Gladstone proclaimed as he held up the ankh to the electric lighting, startling me out of my thoughts. "But, uh… nothing new, or indeed, highly unexpected. Trafficking in occult paraphernalia is older than time. King Solomon had a famous collection, and I'm told Xerxes was a keen hobbyist in his prime…"

"That's not all we hear about Xerxes." A feminine voice said from the entrance of the library.

The voice belonged to a brunette bombshell of a woman, whose wavy hair was cut in a bob that ended next to her ears. She was wearing a red dress that ended above the knee, with a V-neck so low, I had a bit of trouble keep my eyes off her cleavage. The next woman to enter the room wasn't much better in her own black dress, and the two of them looked similar enough to be twins.

"He was a man with a sizable body of work…" The young woman in the black dress said as she slunk up to Gladstone like a cat rubbing its body against the leg of its owner.

"Glimpses of ancient erotica…" Her twin clad in red added suggestively as she too laid hands on Gladstone.

"First edition?" Gladstone asked as he swung his head from one pretty face to another. It was then that the girl clad in red finally noticed me and Priscilla standing awkwardly nearby.

"I'm sorry. Are we interrupting?" The lass in red asked, and Priscilla and I both nodded. Pulling away from Gladstone, the _femme rouge_ gestured to herself and then the girl still at the older man's side as she made her introductions. "I'm Catherine Stuart, and that's my twin sister, Mary."

"I'm Chase Mercer, and that's Priscilla Ross." I said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable as the Stuart twins sized me up. Their lips curled slightly in distaste as their gazes lingered on my clothes. So what if I couldn't afford to wear Armani suits? As long as my clothes did the trick, I was perfectly fine with them. "So, uh… You were saying, sir?"

"Ah yes, the black market!" Gladstone said, snapping out of his female-induced haze. Something in the glint of his wild eyes changed, the kind of change that heralded the moment when the teacher talks about something they actually like. "Our technological evolution is something of a myth. The most powerful items in the world are all very old. Very, very old! Unfathomably old, and equally priceless.

"Redistribution of the wealth began around the time of the Phoenicians, which is in itself, an interesting story. The Phoenicians were cleft from the bosom of the Templars. The two brothers were at the head of our organization, until they suddenly parted ways."

"Over a woman?" Mary Stuart in the black dress spoke up. "It's usually about a woman. How exciting…"

"How droll… Always a bum rap…" Catherine added before Gladstone retook control of the conversation.

"One founded the Brotherhood of Phoenician Sailors, or as they are known today, the Phoenicians, so it could be said that this… _despicable_ practice is our own fault. Undoubtedly why the Templars have always been adamant about policing this trade, Venice directives or not.

Gladstone then shook his head as he stared down at the black ankh still in his hand. "But even the Phoenicians knew the rules! Unspoken rules, mind you, but rules, nonetheless! These items should never find their way into reckless hands, no matter the offer! I mean, the alternative is… _disaster_!"

"Well…" Catherine said as she turned towards the entrance of the library to leave. "I think we could all use a stiff drink after that!"

"Splendid!" Gladstone said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, smacking his lips. A few minutes later, we were seated at one of the tables, sipping at our drinks. While everyone else was enjoying their cocktails, I sipped at a nonalcoholic Roy Rogers made of fizzy cola and deep red grenadine syrup, letting the conversation fall to a low murmur.

"Chase? Chase!" I suddenly heard Priscilla call from someplace both far and near, and I refocused on my surroundings. Looking at the concerned faces of the adults at the table with me, and the long empty cocktail glass sitting in front of me, I realized just how far gone I had been.

"Huh? Oh yeah… Sorry… Just thinking, is all." I said as I reached for the silver platter holding the cocktail ingredients. As I steadfastly ignored the gazes upon me to focus on mixing myself a new drink, I could hear Mary ask me a question, one that I answered by instinct. "So what about my clothes? They fit me just fine, and that's all that matters. They don't need to be anything special."

"Oh, but dear, they don't suit you at all!" Catherine said. "That shirt and pair of trousers don't do you justice. Trust me and my sister — we're the Templars' _What Not to Wear_. If you could just come along with us to Covent Garden or Mayfair for one day, we'll have you looking _quite_ fit…"

I opened my mouth to refuse them, but the looks they were giving me with their big eyes and pouty lips left me without the heart to do it. "I'll… consider it sometime."

It was just then that a phone began to ring, and setting down her beer, Priscilla took out her smart phone and held it to her ear. "Hello? Really? But… I see. We'll be there straightaway."

As Priscilla put away her phone, she looked at me with concern in her eyes as she spoke. "It's Sonnac. He wants us in his office."

I nodded as I stood up from my seat and finished the last of my drink in one final gulp. Setting the empty down onto the table, I nodded to the twin and Gladstone before turning to follow Priscilla out of the Temple Club.

* * *

"Were I someone of loose morals trafficking in forbidden relics, heaven forbid, Egypt would be quite the honeypot. Its ancient evenings are still heavy with power." Sonnac said as the three of us stood in his office. We were all standing in front of his desk, where a postcard written in neat, inky cursive lay.

Sonnac then picked up the postcard, and I saw that the back with the photo on it was of Egypt's Great Pyramid of Giza. "Stop me if you've heard this one before."

Clearing his throat, Sonnac then began to read the postcard aloud. _"I met a traveller from an antique land / Who said: 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert…'"_

"It's 'Ozymandias,' right? By Percy Bysshe Shelley?" I interrupted. "What's with the looks? I can know things too, you know…"

"So what's with the poem, sir?" Priscilla asked, getting the conversation back on track.

"Two weeks ago, we received the poem on the back of this unsigned postcard from Cairo." Sonnac said, holding up said postcard in his dark hand. "It is, and always has been a warning, concerning gods and god-kings thought left to the shadow of history, or to Romantic poetry.

Setting the postcard back down onto the desk, Sonnac then added, "In an entirely unsurprising coincidence, we have been petitioned by the Council of Venice to respond to a matter in Upper Egypt. A great evil is rising in the sand. That's actually what was a written. _'A great evil.'_ Clearly, this requires our _particular_ touch…"

In other words, we were going to be kicking down doors where angels feared to tread. It was then that Priscilla asked another question. "Sir, it's only been two weeks since our last deployment. Surely there are other operatives who can take care of Egypt…"

"Rest assured that I fully understand your concerns, Miss Ross." Sonnac said smoothly as his gaze glanced back and forth between me and Priscilla. "However, as we are short on agents…"

"I'd do it even if there was someone else available." I spoke up. "Downtime's great and all, but I'm not just gonna sit on my ass and wait for the world to end."

Sonnac regarded me carefully as Priscilla looked at me with doubt in her eyes. Finally, after what seemed like several geological ages, she sighed and turned her head towards Sonnac. "So can we expect backup from the other secret societies?"

Sonnac nodded. "The Council are ineffectual, but they take their peacekeeping responsibilities seriously. _Deathly_ seriously. The other societies will eventually be forced to respond, but we should lead by example. This is one of the places civilization began. Let's see to it that civilization doesn't end there. You'll leave tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." Priscilla and I both intoned.

* * *

Later that evening, I was eating supper at the Temple Club's kitchens, partaking in a family meal along with the rest of the kitchen staff. It was your typical meat-and-two-veg British dinner, but elevated to be more fitting with the class of the Temple Club. As per usual, I had finished well before the others, and had already placed my dirty dish in the sink. As I watched the others from a distance, I heard a voice come from out of sight. "Monsieur Mercer?"

I turned my head to see the head chef of the Temple Club standing before me, dirty dish in hand.

If the other chefs at the Temple Club were made of iron, then Roland Beauregard was made of titanium. Originally from rural France, years spent studying various cuisines around the world and running high-end kitchens had beaten the French out of his accent and the nonsense out of his tall, thin frame. Hell, the only way he could've been more intimidating was if he had been wearing black armor covered in spikes instead of chef's whites.

"Oh, sorry, Chef." I apologized as I moved out of the way so that Chef Beauregard could put his dish into the sink.

Bar the clatter of the china plates in the sink, there was an awkward silence for me that lasted for a few seconds as I tried not to make eye contact with those icy blue eyes of Chef Beauregard's. Then he spoke. "It's your last night with us, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chef." I answered simply as water began to pour out of the faucet, and I watched as Chef Beauregard's hands moved with lightning speed.

"Sonnac informed me you're going to Egypt tomorrow. Fine cuisine, Egyptian. Legumes, vegetables, fruits… But you're not going there for the produce, are you?"

"No, Chef."

"So how was your time with us?"

"It was difficult at first, sir, but I feel like I've learned a lot." I answered honestly, not sure where this conversation was going.

"Good." Chef Beauregard said simply as he turned the faucet off and wiped his hands dry with a nearby towel. I hadn't realized that he had already finished. "I'm glad you learned something. Life in the kitchens is hard, as it is in the real world, but it's a far better teacher than most. Just try not to lose yourself in the sands, _est-ce que tu comprends_?"

 _"_ _Oui, monsieur. Je comprends."_ I spoke. Chef Beauregard nodded as he turned around to head for his station.

"Good. Now you'd best report to your station at the _garde manger_. Supper will be starting soon."

"Yes, sir." I said, and I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch as I turned around to head to my station.


	5. It's Always Sunny in Egypt

The next morning, after breakfast, I was preparing for my mission to Egypt in my room. Taking into account the desert climate, I had swapped out my usual boxers for ones made of nylon to keep dry. Over that, I was wearing loose cotton clothes to help me keep my cool by creating airflow around my body.

As I finished tying the laces of my new combat boots, I stood up from the floor and looked towards my bed, where the rest of my gear was set up. My backpack was there, already packed with various supplies, extra ammunition, and of course, water, water, and more water.

In addition to my pack, I also had my new weapons laid out on the red duvet of my single bed. My trusty Beretta was lying near the pillows, with a loaded magazine next to it. Picking up my sidearm, I could feel the grips against my callused hand, worn from long hours of working in the kitchens and practicing out on the gun range in the Crucible. My other hand then slid the loaded magazine into the grip, letting it click into place before holstering the gun beneath my left shoulder.

Taking up most of the space left atop the bed was the Remington Model 700 rifle I had gotten from Red back on Solomon Island. However, its wooden stock had been replaced by a olive green polymer and alloy chassis from Accuracy International. Picking the rifle up, I slipped my right thumb into the thumbhole and brought the foldable stock up to my shoulder, staring through the new Schmidt & Bender scope mounted atop the rifle so that the view of the wall's beige paint job was magnified. Satisfied, I lowered my weapon and folded up the stock, placing it back onto the bed.

The rest of the space on my bed was occupied by a belt carrying enough grenades to overthrow a government or two. Stun grenades to take hostiles by surprise, smoke grenades of different colors, frag grenades filled with deadly shrapnel, you name it.

Glancing at the digital clock on my nightstand, I then began finishing my preparations. After putting on my grenade belt and a light jacket on to conceal it and my Beretta's holster, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and put my rifle into a golf bag for concealment purposes. It had been tricky enough getting it here in the first place without attracting the attention of any bobbies, so I wasn't looking for a repeat of the experience. Plus, the golf bag's extra pockets were useful for carrying extra ammunition.

Finally satisfied with my gear, I then headed for the living room, where Priscilla was finishing up her own preparations. She was dressed similarly to me, and she was feeding buckshot into the receiver of her Benelli M4. Her own backpack of supplies was leaning against the couch, which I knew to contain her medical supplies. However, with Avalon inside of me, they were meant largely for her.

"Hey Chase. You ready to go?" Priscilla asked as she stowed her shotgun away in her duffel bag, and I nodded. After Priscilla had finished gathering her gear, we headed out the door, locked it, and then made our way to Agartha.

The walk to the portal was as uneventful, and as I stepped into the honeyed glow of the Hollow Earth, I was already beginning to sweat. Before us, one of Agartha's giant clockwork Custodians turned to face us, steam hissing and gears whirring. I couldn't help but feel just a little bit intimidated by its sheer size, but I put aside such thoughts as I asked for directions. "Could you tell us the way to the Egyptian portal, please?"

In response, the Custodian whirred as its torso swiveled in another direction, and its great gauntleted hand raised itself, pointing to a distant branch within the great network of trees. "Okay, thank you!"

Priscilla and I then began to pick up the pace, following the path pointed out to us at a light jog. The soles of our boots made a rhythmic thud against the wood of the great branches, and I felt grateful that I had worked on improving my endurance. If I had tried something like this on my first day in London, jogging on a hot day with a heavy load on my back, I probably would've collapsed and died of heat stroke.

After a few more stops for directions, we finally arrived at the portal to Egypt, all hot and sweaty and panting. From jogging for quite a while in one of the balmiest places on — well, technically _within_ the Earth. Come on, guys, get your heads out of the gutter.

Anyway, as we passed through the portal to Egypt, I could already tell that Egypt wouldn't be much better than Agartha. At least the air was less humid. The first thing I noticed when I stepped over to the other side was that we were located somewhere darker than Agartha. Some kind of underground complex, if the crumbling stone wall in front of us was any indication.

Our boots left intricate footprints in the sand as we strode towards the hole in the wall, and as we stepped into the tunnel worn into the stone by the sands of time, we drew our sidearms and held them at the ready. Priscilla took point, with me not far behind her, and the tunnel soon widened and opened its roof to reveal that it was part of a large, deep crack in the ground. It would've been a dead end, were it not for the set of wooden ladders, stairs, and scaffolds next to the wall.

I looked at the structure dubiously as we neared the foot of the first set of stairs. Even with Avalon to patch me up, I wasn't about to trust with my life something that looked like the art project I made with Elmer's glue and popsicle sticks back in elementary school. The creaky planks did nothing to reassure me as we made our way up, and it was only when my boots had planted themselves on the lip of the ravine that I let out the breath I had been holding.

Now that I was out of the cave and into the bright desert sunlight, I could fully appreciate just how _hot_ Egypt was. Not five minutes in, and I was already beginning to sweat like a pig. Raising a hand to my brow in order to shade my eyes and see better, I saw stone buildings off in the distance. "Over there, Priscilla!"

"I see 'em!" Priscilla responded, and we both took off at a jog. Kicking up sand as we went, we drew closer and closer to the nearby village as we went, the sounds of gunfire and battle riding the hot desert wind. As I made eye contact with Priscilla, she nodded, and as we entered the town proper, we split up. As Priscilla made her way through the streets with her shotgun, I climbed up one of the town's crumbling structures to access its rooftops.

As I brought my rifle out from its golf bag, I had a moment to simply gaze out at the little Egyptian town. The stone bricks of the various homes scattered around town were crumbling, which spoke well of Egyptian infrastructure. The whole scene, bathed in sunlight as it was, looked like a once great theater set thrust into the spotlight. It kinda made me sad, to be honest. It didn't help that a mob of ashen-skinned citizens wielding curved swords had surrounded a group of armed personnel in white in the middle of town square.

From what I could see, only one of the group in white had a gun, while the rest wielded old-fashioned sabers. I had to hand it to them. Outnumbered as they were, out in the open, they were holding out pretty well against the horde of frothing madmen going, _"Aten!"_ Still, that didn't mean they couldn't use some help.

Bringing my rifle up to my shoulder, I rested my head against the cheekpiece as I lined up the sights of my scope with the head of my first target. As my rifle went off, the target fell dead amidst her friends, who were undeterred by their comrade's death. The ball-tipped lever of my rifle was pulled back, and a second later, another madman went down. As Priscilla joined in on the fun, the horde's numbers were thinned until the last of them were run through by the sabers of the men in white.

Slinging my rifle over my shoulder and grabbing the golf bag, I made my way down the building to where Priscilla and the men in white awaited me. As I drew closer, I saw that they were wearing blue berets in addition to their white fatigues, and when I saw the lion pin on them, I realized that these guys were from the Council of Venice.

Talking to Priscilla was a tan-skinned woman dressed in a white coat and a gray tank top that exposed her belly button. Silver jewelry hung from her neck and earlobes, and considering the climate, I was worried that her curly, dark brown afro ripped straight from the sixties, would melt into hair gel.

"Chase, this is Amparo Osorio of the Council of Venice. Amparo, this is Chase Mercer." Priscilla said as she gestured from me to the Council agent, and I smiled as Amparo and I shook hands.

 _"_ _Encantada."_

 _"_ _Y usted."_ I responded, and Amparo raised a dark eyebrow at that. "I took Spanish for two years in middle school. So, uh… Is this all the Council sent to deal with this 'great evil'?"

"Sí." Amparo said sadly, shaking her afro as she swept an arm around the center of town, where the half a dozen or so men with her were wiping their swords clean. "This is all I have — the entire Council of Venice delegation. Just a handful of armed personnel. Hardly enough manpower to deal with a situation like this. But this is hardly the place for such talk. Follow me."

Amparo then led us along with the rest of the Council personnel to one of the larger buildings surrounding the town square. On either side of the front door were glowing spheres with a sheen that shifted color from pink, turquoise, and silver. They were all suspended within magic circles, their traced lines in the sand glowing in the same colors as the floating spheres.

As I leaned forward to get a better look at the runes around the edges of the circles, I felt a hand on my shoulder stop me, and I look to see that it was Amparo. "Careful, the protections do not differentiate between friend and foe. Anything that smells of anima, clean or tainted, and the fireworks go off."

"Got it." I said, and I followed her and Priscilla inside the Council's base of operations. I couldn't help but sigh in appreciation as I entered the cool of the shady ceiling. Making our way through the entrance hall, we made a left at the end to see a round wooden table surrounded by a few appropriated chairs. Atop the table were empty cups and various ingredient containers scattered on its surface.

"Thirsty?" Amparo asked, and we both nodded as we took seats at the table. "Have you ever heard of _sahlab_? It's rather like hot vanilla."

Priscilla and I both shook our heads, and Amparo quickly set to work. As she made our drinks, I carefully observed her tanned hands as they moved. Milk into a heated pan, water and cornstarch whisked in, add vanilla and sugar… A few minutes later, Amparo set down three cups of _sahlab_ between the three of us, topped with cinnamon and coconut.

Picking up my steaming cup, I took a long sip of the warm drink, taking the time to really taste it. The texture and taste reminded me of vanilla pudding, with the coconut flakes added flavor and another layer of texture. As I luxuriated in the drink, I heard Priscilla set her cup down onto the table. "So how long have you been under siege?"

Amparo sighed as she stared into the milkiness of her drink, as if trying to divine answers from it. "That was the third attack in many days. The Aten worshippers are getting more aggressive, and our defenses are under strain. We needed the help. _Muchas gracias._ "

"Any idea as to what caused all this?" Priscilla asked.

"No, but I do know something has gone terribly wrong here, far beyond the earthquakes, locust swarms, and rain of fire." Amparo said.

She then leaned across the table conspiratorially, glancing out of the corner of her eyes as if she expected someone to pop out from the walls — a not-wholly unjustified fear. "I believe something that has been taken from this place — a dangerous artifact that may be behind the cruel wind that has brought these dark clouds upon us.

"I'm convinced that the Orochi are involved, somehow, as our definitions, their loyalties can be bought. But there's someone else, too — someone with a lot of resources and friends in the highest places. Them, I do not know…"

Then out of nowhere, Amparo slammed her hand onto the tabletop, causing us to jerk our heads up from our drinks in surprise as the stuff left on the surface rattled against the wood. "But the Council won't listen! _No one_ listens! My reports vanish in red tape, and I don't receive the resources I need! It's as if someone is deliberately trying to slow me down, and so I dig on my own, and attract the attention of the cultists."

Amparo then sighed as she practically crashed back down into her seat, slumping slightly against the back. Her bitterness was clear to hear as she spoke. "I fear the Council may be compromised from the inside. I don't know who to trust, whether they want me to find the truth, or if they want me to bury it deep below the sand. All I know is that this is too important to bury, too important to keep secret…"

"Any idea where we should start looking?"

Amaro nodded. "Whatever it is that happened, it happened right here in this town. Normal people were turned into mindless, _murderous_ sheep bent on darkness, death, and destruction…

She then leaned forward again, and glanced back and forth between me and Priscilla. "But like sheep, they only know how to follow. And if you follow the sheep, they might lead you to the shepherd, yes?"

Priscilla and I both made eye contact before we nodded, the wooden legs of our chairs scraping across the floor as we stood up. "Thank you, ma'am. Chase and I will begin our own investigation now. We'll be sure to contact you if we find anything regarding the cultists."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry about the long delay in updating. A little thing called "real life" got in the way. Plus, the Crygaia Wiki I use for dialogue has been offline for weeks. Until it's back, I'll probably take a hiatus, work on conceptualizing some original stuff of my own. In the meantime, I'm still awaiting beta requests for this story, so if you want the job, just PM me. I pay in rainbows. Ciao-ciao.


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